


Saving Face

by BritaniaVance



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritaniaVance/pseuds/BritaniaVance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title of Inquisitor carries a certain reverence that Lady Trevelyan is no stranger to, but finds that her masks of decorum slip a bit too easily in a certain soldier's presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Face

The quiet of the keep did nothing to quell Aerys' restlessness; her limbs still hummed with uncertain energy.

As if pulled by unseen strings, her legs were marionettes to sleepless wandering. Even the rest Aerys managed to get was fruitless; another trek through clouded memories in the Fade, a teasing temptress dangling relics from a life now far away as she grasped with desperate hands at a past that was always out of reach. Shades of the conclave, slivers of voices and the ghosts of feelings -flashes of dread, terror, and surmounting confusion - were all Aerys could discern come morning.

She much preferred the tangibility of action, the realness of _now_ , the solid wood of her bow clenched in her fist, fingers brushing over polished feathers before loosing an arrow into a foe she could look in the eye.

“Good evening, Inquisitor,” a guard bid her with a nod, invading her unease.

Aerys nodded in return as a courteous smile spirited over her lips. The guard's name was Mathilde, she recalled, one of Commander Cullen’s more recent recruits. She showed promise, dedication, and the utmost decorum when it came to titles and other concerns.

The ghostly echo of Mathilde’s voice addressing her as _Inquisitor_ trailed behind Aerys, accompanying her steps as she rounded the corner, out of sight.

 _Inquisitor_ … Her title was like a mask, one of many, a face now tucked away, nestled out of sight along with the evening like day clothes. She was not _Inquisitor Trevelyan_ wandering the halls with a discerning eye and poison at the ready in her claws, she was simply _Aerys_ , open and vulnerable.

With her mask hidden away, she walked with only the resonance of her footfalls to guide her, the torch in her hand already burning low. It was one often perched outside her chamber and it always seemed dim, as if fire could be faulty, but Aerys felt kindred with it nonetheless: ardent though uncertain, brilliantly bright but only when thrust into the sort of dark that was often found in nothingness. It was a symbol of the mixture of both her faces in a single spire, clenched in her hand like an heirloom.

The halls unnerved her yet called to her with their emptiness, begging to be explored. Aerys only knew the keep when it was buzzing and full of life, a cup constantly flowing and threatening to spill the brim, but now it was slumbering… as she should have been. In the quiet of the night, all of Skyhold felt like a shadow of its other self. It did not scare her, the quiet, but it did not put her at ease either. She was left with herself and whatever uncertainties plagued her in the daytime without refuge.

The only thing that seemed certain was the Inquisition itself, plots on a map and notes written hastily on parchment. The inkwell on the small ivory desk in her chamber had run dry, sparing only sapphire flakes and frustration. An oiled indigo feather was stuck in her hair, keeping a mess of dark braids aloft from the nape of her neck for all the good it did her. The light winds from the war room seemed more than calming and Aerys’ feet found themselves making their way there.

It was an odd thought, imagining the room bereft of banter, brainstorming and endless temple rubbing. Aerys brought a finger to her forehead at the notion. The mere idea of the vast war chamber now empty seemed to call to her, not only for its maps but for its windows, tall, narrow slits that lined the room, glimpsing the heavens and the quiet earth beneath them. A whimpering wind met her ears from the open windows as she began to ascend the tower, the torch at her side flickering feebly. Her skin prickled at the wind. She held her silk robe tight, clutching it in the middle to avoid tripping in her tiredness as her other hand fussed with a scar above her brow that did not seem to want to heal.

And then she heard it. It was a gentle thing at first, and she almost passed it off as a ghostly accompaniment to the breeze that followed her up the stone steps. Aerys slowed, her hand falling from her scar, contemplating her ascension to the war room beyond, finding that the night's song grew stronger though somehow remained soft. It sounded vaguely familiar, a faint memory of vague origin, unknown as to whether it was born of truth or of some ancient dream, long forgotten. She believed she may have heard it some nights, perhaps attributing it to the gale. Here, it was louder. It was still a ghostly thing, but it was somehow  _realer_ than those indiscernible phantom notes on the twilight air on nights past.

Having no fear of ghosts and more ill feeling for dreams than waking life, Aerys crept toward the top of the tower, her fingers brushing up along the rough wall as she listened. An indescribable warmth swelled within her -- she knew the song but could not place it. She was afraid to startle its singer though, and instead eased to a crawl up the stair, her eyes watching the empty courtyard fall away with every step through the narrow slits in the stone.

The song slowed as she neared the top. Aerys was unsure whether her presence was felt and perhaps impeded on the song's continuation. A final note filled the air. The song’s dying breath lay baited and beautiful, hanging in the silence that followed. Aerys stopped, a foot gracing the top step. Though the great oak door was still closed before her, movement rustled from beyond it. She remained fixed, rooted to the spot wishing, waiting for the song to continue. Her ears sought any remnant of its sound, trying to place its faint familiarity within her memory when the door opened, revealing a thoroughly startled Commander on the other side.

“So, you’re the ghost who haunts the tower,” Aerys found herself saying through a smile as the man before her stood open-mouthed, his hand still at the wrought iron handle.

Her smile must have been contagious, for another crept over Cullen’s uncertain lips in return, one that briefly met his eyes and set his scar in momentary shadow, a shallow crag amid the warm lines of his face. Despite her quest for refuge, there was something in the sudden presence of the Commander that calmed her almost instantly. The soldier stood before her, withdrawn but somehow warm as he took in the sight of her.

“I-I suppose so, Inquisitor,” he straightened himself and instead of descending the stairs as he intended, he leaned into the door so as to allow Aerys admittance.

“ _Milady_ ,” he nodded his head, honeyed eyes glinting in the light of her torch as he extended his other hand. Aerys’ eyes flickered over his tired but somehow comforted face as she slipped the torch into the empty sconce next to the door and took the man’s hand.

Her cool fingers met the warmth of his palm, taking a step forward and confirming that, “Aerys,” was in fact more than appropriate, especially considering that they were alone. She had to admit that Cullen’s niceties always felt more genuine than others’. Their voices were often stiff and false of feeling, spewing words rehearsed with an emptiness that only came with practice. Cullen’s voice was softer, sincere, and Aerys was reminded of his song on the night as she entered the room.

The chamber’s torches had just been extinguished, their stalks wreathed in newly formed smoke that hung briefly before drifting upward into the void of the high ceiling. The air was cooler here, and it swept through the open windows, casting the room in a perpetual chill. It was useful most of the time, dampening many a heated discussion, but now it felt lofty and lonely, and not unlike a Chantry. Moonlight filtered through the windows, falling in translucent beams that sliced through the tall room like shafts of ice.

Aerys walked a few paces to the large etched table at the center of the room, brushing a hand over its rough wood, before turning around and facing Cullen as he approached, suddenly placing the song in her patchwork memory. It was a solemn song that most children knew upon hearing, though perhaps knew only popular passages repeated in sing-song by nursemaids and Chantry sisters about town, but it made complete sense that Cullen would know it’s every intonation.

“It was by accident that I discovered the acoustics of this room are very much like a Chantry’s, I’ll have you know,” he said, as if her thoughts had taken to the air and lingered between them for open discussion. She noticed that he was out of his armor for once and instead sported a rough spun brown tunic and trousers as if he were preparing to spar with new recruits. Looking down at herself, Aerys held her silk gown about her, securing its midnight blue fabric with crossed arms. Cullen walked with an unmistakable assurance. He held his arms held behind him at attention, demanding respect and audience, as if it were his default. His gait was the same as it was on the field, seasoned with an air of command, but there was something in his face that spoke differently, and _that_ , she could not quite place.

“I’d very much like to hear about this accident _._ ” Aerys replied, finding that the smile had yet to fade from her face and made no motion to leave as her eyes remained fixed on Cullen who walked beyond her to the tower windows.

He laughed, flustered, his ears growing scarlet as his right hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck, something Aerys found he did often if she addressed him directly or asked about his preferences, such as the other evening at dinner when she questioned him about his favorite ales or when she asked which colors he favored because scarlet, in fact, looked so good on him. She had not meant for it to be a joke, though Sera _did_ and took no time at all to mention just how often the ex-Templar blushed the very color, especially when in Aerys’ presence. Aerys had sated the both of them with another tankard and left it at that.

Aerys approached to join him, abandoning the table’s maps altogether to lean opposite Cullen on the inward sill. He looked demurely up at her, his arm still fidgeting with the back of his neck. It was in these moments that Aerys glimpsed a man other than a soldier, a Commander or an ex-Templar, and he was perhaps just that… only a man.

“Perhaps I’ll tell you after I hear what brings you _here_ at this hour,” he asked, looking her in the eye. The wind tugged at her nightgown’s fabric as if it were trying to get her attention, but Cullen took no notice, or at least did not make it known as his eyes remained fixed on hers. Aerys could not look away.

“Sleep is… seldom,” she began, entranced, realizing that she could not recall an instant where she and Cullen had shared a moment alone, within this room or without. Aerys also realized she had little inkling where else he kept company and wondered where he might have wandered off to had she not stayed him on the stair, “I supposed poring over maps might help.”

He nodded, his smile finally fading though it lingered on his lips.

“That is often why I am here. One of the few things that make sense.”

“Little else makes much sense, does it?” Aerys agreed with a bitter laugh. She considered directing her gaze to the courtyard below but found no reason to as the comfort between her and Cullen seemed to fill the clawing void left behind by whatever uncertainties dogged her sleep. Aerys felt her limbs settle in Cullen’s presence, unaware that they had been tense until now. A warmth emanated from the company, _his_ company -- like the warmth of his fingers briefly brushing across hers -- and comforted her more than she imagined sleep might have. Nothing did make sense, though perhaps this new feeling did not need much questioning.

But the feeling was not at all unfamiliar, only intensified in their solitude. She often took to stealing glances at him when the others would gather about the war table, squabbling over rumors of not-so-secret ambushes and ever-shifting loyalties. She was always stern and quiet until she had all of her information, looking about the group and reading faces as they spoke. Yet Aerys found that her eyes fell on Cullen’s frame even when he wasn’t speaking, often to find that Cullen was already looking at her, their eyes locking momentarily before the Commander would nod politely and look away. There were times when her eyes lingered long enough to watch his return for the briefest of moments, setting both of their gazes aflutter. And despite these stolen, tender instances, their temperaments worked well together – that is, if Aerys wasn’t otherwise calming the discussion of dispute.

It was known that they cared for one another; Cullen for Aerys perhaps more than he cared for others, but Aerys’ concern could be taken for the protective and trusting camaraderie she felt with the Inquisition at large. Now that they were alone, Aerys knew there was something _other_ to their stolen moments, perhaps not so stolen, but glimpses into a world apart from the Inquisition that they both yearned for, searching for it in secret glances and a none-too-accidental brushing of fingers or elbows that tested the waters, wondering what such a world might be like.

“Does the Chant help?” she asked, her voice spoke more of its own accord than by command, her thoughts flowing out of her head and into the open air without much filter. Her tongue felt uncaged and it liked the feeling of the wind on its wings. So often was she testing her words before speaking, but perhaps it was the weariness that allowed her thoughts free reign. Or maybe it was the comfort that settled over her like a shroud with Cullen so close beside her, their secret worlds hovering in close orbit.

“The Chant?”

“What you were singing,” Aerys felt the smile grace her mouth again, finding her lips were content with the feeling.

“Ah,” Cullen did not fidget this time, but did shift his weight from one foot to the other, moving ever so closer to Aerys, his arm brushing against hers upon the stone balcony. She could feel the warmth of him as he neared her and thought of every other time they touched in passing and how her body yearned for him to linger, to stay.

“I suppose it always has,” Cullen replied, his eyes intent, his stance somehow comfortable and confident as he settled into the space beside Aerys without pulling away.

“I'm not quite sure what I believe in anymore,” Aerys began, leaning into Cullen’s arm, “though I do like hearing that everyone else seems to have _some_ idea.”

“If there is anything I truly believe, it is in the Inquisition,” he replied, his voice soft as velvet in their close proximity, and Aerys could not recall moving closer as she spoke but she supposed she had. She had only been in the room with him for mere minutes, and already their bodies had fallen into orbit, threatening some inevitable closeness.

“I can say as much… _at least_.” Her eyes flickered into the distance, faltering at the thought of her life before returning to Cullen’s face. His eyes remained fixed on her, unmoving. Cullen seemed almost clearer when her gaze returned, more distinct and even closer than before; perhaps even closer than she had ever been. His blond hair was almost silver in the light and yet the amber of his eyes retained their heat and something else, a new-found tenderness that he had perhaps been too keen on keeping out of more public meetings but let slip in only Aerys’ company.

“Things change,” Cullen replied simply, and she knew exactly what he spoke of. His words were guarded, but his voice remained calm and even. She wouldn’t press the matter, at least not yet, but her mouth was still acting of its own accord and thankfully did not make her out to be too much the fool.

“How are you, Commander? Considering... _all of this_?” she asked, her voice breathed like silk despite the question in her words. Cullen’s closeness warranted that she need not project her voice, and yet the intimacy of their conversation set her chest on fire. But it was a pleasurable heat, the soft warmth of sitting near a hearth on a cool evening. Despite her better efforts she _did_ feel the fool, but she dared not ask about his past, about the lyrium, about how difficult the past few weeks, months, perhaps Cullen's entire life had been. Instead she would ask about how he was here, now, and her doing so would reveal her concern in some capacity without tempting waters that were possibly too deep.

Cullen laughed lightly, his face content as his eyes considered her. She could feel his eyes scan her face, surprised though no doubt pleased, and she felt her unease melt away.

“I’m- I’m well,” he responded, leaning further into the sill, and for the first time he looked away from her and into the mountainous distance with a furrowed brow. When his gaze returned, he looked determined, sure. Much like he did when he affirmed a tactical decision, often laying an audible fist on the war table that wasn’t exactly a pound but more like he was placing an invisible seal on a document in confirmation. “Perhaps better than I’ve ever been, actually,”

A thought crossed her mind at his words, though Aerys dismissed it, unwilling to accept that he could mean her presence here, now, and instead asked “Then why are _you_ here at this hour?” she asked keenly, a smirk gracing her face for an instant.

“It’s not for lack of sleep,” he explained, and his eyes moved away again, only this time his eyes swept the war room as if discerning its contents for the first time. Aerys laughed internally, noting that Cullen never looked her in the eye when he spoke of himself-- not as if he didn't welcome the questions but was instead unaccustomed to being asked, “I enjoy the solitude, especially after never having much of it in the past.”

Aerys imagined there was never much room for privacy in the Order, though perhaps plenty for loneliness, and an apology erupted from her for having kept him from wherever he had been going when she arrived.

“I’m sorry to have impeded-“ she began but Cullen held up a gentle hand, shaking his head.

“No, no. No need to apologize, I very much welcome the company.” His eyes were intent on hers again before he shook his head, his demeanor dropping, “That is, if _you_ don’t mind, milady-“

“Oh, _no_ , not at all,” Aerys stammered in quick breaths, she too holding up a hand to stop his apology only to find that Cullen’s hand was still extended. Her touch lingered, as if soaking in the feel of him like an eager sponge before drawing away.

“I admit I _was_ leaving,” Cullen started, his eyes softening as if his lids grew heavy, “but… you gave me a reason to stay.” He finished in a breathy whisper, almost husky and rough, but soothing. “I’m sorry to have distracted you from… er, ‘poring over maps’, as you said but-“

“Oh, not at all, Commander, any distraction from the sleeplessness is qui- quite welcome,”

She mentally scolded herself for the slight stutter but knew it to be inevitable as her heart fluttered in her chest, hammering at her rib cage as if about to burst. Cullen’s distraction _was_ indeed welcome, though more distracting than she may have anticipated.

Cullen’s face melted into a brief, sheepish smile before he bit his lip to hide it. His face relaxed, though Aerys could see his mouth possess the slightest twitch, but this also brought her to the realization that she looked upon his lips a bit too intently. Her eyes looked up at Cullen’s to find his eyes had, too, strayed to her mouth, flickering upward at her discovery. Her face flushed scarlet, the heat crawling up her neck matching the one in her chest

“You don’t-“ he began, the smirk creeping back into his lips as he spoke, though he visibly tried his best to quell it with words, “You don’t have to call me Commander, Inquisitor-“

“ _Aerys_ ,” she interrupted in an almost urgent whisper.

“Aerys,” he breathed, the plush of his soft words bewitching her spine with a pleasurable shiver at the sound of her name on his tongue. _Just Aerys_.

Her gaze was fixed on him, and though she fretted staring, it was as if she was helpless to the notion that she was comfortable here, with Cullen, as herself.

“How-how are you, then, _Aerys_?” he spoke her name again as if his voice were handling a delicate artifact, careful, precise, and gentle, “If you don’t mind my asking,”

Aerys felt what little space between them bristle with a new energy, pleased that Cullen filled the silence that followed. Cullen watched her eagerly as she soaked in the feeling while mustering an answer.

“It’s only fair, I asked you after all,” she laughed, still not much above a whisper. “Well, I am sleepless, for one.”

She hadn’t meant to voice her uncertainty, and yet the electricity that surrounded her in Cullen’s presence brought down her walls, showing her mask like a playing hand that she had only shared with her empty bed on such sleepless nights. She looked away, her hand reaching for her forehead where that fresh scar still prickled. It hadn’t bothered her in the time she was in Cullen’s presence, perhaps for more obvious reasons.

Aerys mulled over her next words as she absently thumbed her scar when she felt a brush at the side of her face. For a moment, she thought the wind had picked up and caught her hair, but looked to find that Cullen had raised a hand, his rough fingers combing her dark hair aside to rest a gentle thumb upon her wound as well. The electricity she felt between them suddenly settled into her skin, spreading outward and over her from Cullen’s point of contact.

“You know, there’s a passage in the Chant that sanctifies scars and old wounds,” Cullen spoke in slow, even breaths, his voice emanating from somewhere deep in his throat, “The lay sisters retold it as more of a tale for children who were squeamish at the sight of blood, though-“

“Tell me,” Aerys nearly sighed, the electricity sinking through her skin and plaguing her bones with a pleasing eagerness.

Cullen smiled the same sheepish grin from before, but this time he let it settle over his features as they turned slightly red, again, as if he was now embarrassed for even bringing it up.

Cullen licked his lips -- Aerys’ eyes hopelessly fixed on his mouth as he did so -- and continued.

“They say it’s a kiss from the Maker, a totem against death,” he explained, his thumb grazing the edge of her scar in a gentle back and forth. “From what I’ve seen of you, I would venture to say you’re rather death proof.”

“What about just for good measure?” Aerys was not entirely certain of what she was saying, or where her words came from, but her chest was an open well of energy probing some secret, intimate courage. This was not like looking a demon in the eye, but somehow Aerys never felt this nervous in the presence of one.

Their eyes were fixed in mutual stalemate, neither one looking away and Aerys could swear she neither blinked nor breathed. The corner of Cullen’s mouth curled upward as he closed the distance between them. She felt the warm velvet of his lips on her brow, Cullen’s thumb grazing her cheekbone, his light breath teasing her hair. Her eyes closed as she let her skin saturate with the feeling, before opening them to look at Cullen as he backed away. Her eyes fluttered over his face, pausing at his mouth, still curled in a half-smile, before settling on the soldier’s own scar. Cullen had only moved so far, his face still close, his hand still at her cheek. She met his gaze, noticing a nervous uncertainty lingering in his expression.

She could sense her hand, suddenly heavy as lead, reach up to touch the shallow crag that lined Cullen’s face from his lip to his cheek, when the door at the far end of the hall opened with a deafening creak that whipped through the air like a strike of lightning.

Aerys’ hand retracted, though did not stray far, having merely brushed the space just above Cullen’s mouth with a fingertip. His own hand remained on her face, gentle, though she could feel his touch falter at the intrusion. Their attention was commanded to the other end of the war room where Mathilde stood panting with her helmet's visor up, revealing a disheveled flash of copper hair.

“Inquisitor!”

The word rang through the room, ricocheting softer and softer like a ghost unwilling to take its final breath. Despite Cullen’s intimate proximity, something changed. Though she no longer looked at him, Aerys could feel him resume his usual stance, rapt at attention. She felt her own limbs tighten, as if her unseen sleepless puppeteer pulled her strings taut.

“Sorry for the intrusion, but-” Mathilde began, taking frantic but even steps to the war table that separated them, her eyes flickering from Aerys to Cullen.

“Commander,” Mathilde stopped, bringing a fist to her heaving chest as she nodded to her captain, “It is fortunate you both are here, for-“ Mathilde looked to the door, as did Cullen and Aerys, at the sound of faint orders taking to the wind from elsewhere in the keep. Mathilde took a deep breath as she turned to face her superiors once more, “We fear Skyhold may have been breached.”

The quiet of the night earlier seemed to loom in Aerys’ memory upon hearing Mathilde’s words. Restless sleep and unease, perhaps caused by dogged footsteps and overheard words, a pair of unseen eyes in the shadows as she meandered the Skyhold's halls and feigned sleep in hindsight. Her outward bearing now revealed nothing of these inner thoughts, and Aerys remained poised, intent, and assumed the role of Inquisitor the instant Mathilde's words sunk in.

Despite the abrupt change in the air of the room, Cullen placed a gentle hand on Aerys’ arm. Her face turned to meet his, his manner altered, no longer just a man but a lion laying in wait.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan,” he said evenly, his fingers gripping her forearm ever so tenderly despite his demeanor, “May I have your leave to ready my men to comb the area?”

Cullen need not ask, but Aerys only nodded, playing the part. But it was not entirely a ploy. Part of her felt bereft of some phantom fulfillment as the role of Inquisitor slowly settled over her like a second skin. This was not a lost moment, and as affection ebbed and transformed to alarm within her, she felt this moment was more of an unfortunate bookmark, a scene that might resume when the time was right.

Cullen’s amber eyes lingered on hers, lamenting the moment’s passing before he gave way to concern and command.

“Of course, Commander,” she bowed her head as Cullen released his grip, fingers brushing along the silk of her sleeve.

“And Serah Mathilde,” Aerys turned to the soldier standing aptly before her, cinching her nightgown with a sailor’s precision at her waist, “Brief me about what details you have as we rouse the others. We’ll meet with Commander Cullen again once we have seen to them, yes?”

Aerys hazarded Cullen a glance, which he met with meaning, solemn eyes set in a face hewn of stone. He nodded again and she nodded in kind. Duty beckoned and they both retreated behind their masks and titles once more to meet its call.

**Author's Note:**

> With all of the news and speculation swirling around Dragon Age: Inquisition, I just couldn't help myself. I got inexorably swept up in the former Knight-Captain Cullen and this happened. I tried my best to remain as vague as possible so as to not contradict not-yet-revealed canon regarding the game and characters, but only time will see to that. Keep an eye out for future chapters, as well ;)


End file.
